Gloves Off: a marriage of convenience hockey romance (Vancouver Storm Book 4)

Her jaw drops, but her eyes flare with lust.

That first meeting was excruciating with her running her soft, delicate hands all over my body, feeling out my previous injuries and how they’ve healed. I remember biting back a groan as her nails grazed my knee. At one point, her hair brushed my bare shoulder and I almost came in my shorts.

“You’re kidding.” She blinks.

How could I work with a doctor I was attracted to? I could barely concentrate on what she was saying during the appointment.

“Not kidding. I never told Ward you were incompetent, but I did tell him I was attracted to you.”

A slow blink, like she’s processing all of this. “You never told Ward I was incompetent.”

I shake my head as the sharp knife of regret and embarrassment twists in my gut. “I was pissed off about the lost cause comment and let my emotions get the best of me. It was childish and immature. I’m sorry again.”

She’s silent for ten agonizing seconds before she claps once and crows with victory, bouncing in my lap. “I knew it.”

“No, you didn’t.” The tension in my chest melts away. Not mad, then. That’s good.

“Sack of potatoes,” she whispers, eyes glittering like diamonds. “Sack of potatoes, my ass. Or maybe you’ve got a thing for potatoes.”

“What are you two hooting and hollering about?” Owens calls over.

“Volkov thinks I’m hot,” Georgia says proudly, and I roll my eyes, but I think I’m smiling again.

“Everyone knows this already,” Miller calls from the bar.

Her mouth turns up more and mischief sparks in her eyes. It’s nice, her smiling at me like that. “So now we know the truth. You’ve got a thing for me.”

“I don’t,” I lie quietly. “I definitely don’t.”

I do. I definitely do.

She laughs. “Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but that’s what an inconvenient boner means.” She lowers her voice again, studying me with that annoying, pretty smile. “You’re attracted to me. I bet that pisses you off so much, that you’ve got the hots for me. Ooooh, I bet that makes you mad.”

“‘Got the hots’? What are you, sixteen?”noveldrama

“Is that why you were in such a bad mood over that trip earlier in the season?” She says it in this teasing, overjoyed way, like she knows the answer. “Tell the truth. The citizenship people might ask about this.”

“They’re not going to ask if I’m attracted to my wife!”

Her head falls back and laughter spills out of her. Something warm and crackling expands in my chest.

Georgia Greene’s laugh is something else. “I never would have told you if I knew you’d gloat like this.”

“Mhmmm.” She smiles at me, all smug and knowing, eyes sparkling. She fans herself, sliding me a coy look. “Is it hot in here or is it just me?” Her eyes drop to my mouth. “Volkov, your mouth is doing that weird turn-uppy thing again. Do you like my laugh or something?”

More than anything, but I can’t tell her that. I need to distract her.

“I like you in my jersey,” I admit. “The color’s nice on you. Looks good with your eyes.” My gaze moves to her auburn hair and I tug on a lock. “And your hair.”

What am I talking about? What am I saying?

She narrows her eyes, still smiling. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”

The bottom falls out of my stomach. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t think around her. I can’t concentrate. She’s constantly on my mind.

Can she tell?

Her eyes skim over me, over my shoulders and torso, over the collar of my half-zip sweater. “You look nice, too.”

“Yeah?”

She looks away, smiling. “Yeah.”

After a beat, I give her waist a squeeze. “My turn.”

“Go for it.”

“Why didn’t you want to help me? Why’d you call me a lost cause?”

She’s not lazy, I know that now. She cares about her patients and she works hard. She loves what she does. She wants to help people.

So why didn’t she want to help me?

The amused spark dies from her eyes. She won’t meet my gaze. “I couldn’t be impartial.”

I’m confused. I can feel myself frowning.

“When you got your concussion, I just, um.” She presses her lips together, looking like she’s going to be sick. “I couldn’t check out emotionally the way I can with other patients. It wasn’t ethical to keep you as a patient.”

“You didn’t transfer me because I was too injured to play?”

She rolls her eyes like I’m exasperating. “Alexei, are you serious? No matter how many times you get injured, you’re still one of the best players in the league. You’re like Wolverine or something. You got a career achievement award while you’re still playing.”

There’s that pulse of warmth again behind my sternum, like her opinion of me matters. “What do you mean, you couldn’t be impartial?”

She looks at her hands. “I don’t like watching the physical side of hockey.”

“With me.”

A nod.

“It’s a contact sport.” That’s one of the things I love about it—the rush, the intensity, the chaos.

“I’m a doctor,” she says lightly. “I don’t like it when people get hurt.”

“When I get hurt.”

Again, silence. So that’s a yes. And I get hurt all the time. “What about fighting?”

Her arms fold across her chest, tucking into her sides like she feels sick. “Not my favorite.”

I feel weird. Unhappy and worried. “It’s part of the game. That’s my job as an enforcer, to make sure the other team knows they can’t get away with things.”

“I know.”

“I need to protect my guys.”

“I know.” Her eyes meet mine, soft and sad, and the quiet way she says it does something unwelcome to my heart.

“You don’t like it when I fight.”

She lifts a shoulder.

“You don’t like it when I get hurt.”

She doesn’t say anything, just keeps her gaze on the rest of the room, shoulders tense.

“Do you watch my games? The ones you’re not at?”

“I try not to.” Her eyes dart, wild and worried. Like I’m learning her secrets.

“I have to fight,” I say, almost desperately.

“I know.” She fiddles with her necklace, looking away. “I’m going to grab a drink. Do you want anything?”

I shake my head, watching her walk away with an uneasy feeling in my gut. The puzzle pieces slide into place.

I know why she sleepwalks.